


Managed

by achray



Category: The Night Manager (TV)
Genre: Jed Marshall/Jonathan Pine/Richard Roper implied, M/M, Missing Scenes, Slash, spoiler-free (mostly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achray/pseuds/achray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t realize this was part of the job description,” Jonathan said, easily.</p><p>“Call it a perk,” said Roper. </p><p>“And if I say no?”</p><p>“That,” said Roper, “would only be a relevant question if you were planning to.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Managed

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place loosely around the events in the first 5 episodes, especially 3 and 4, ignoring canon as convenient. There are no significant spoilers here (beyond what you could find in an episode guide), and no plot. Written and posted before the final episode aired in the UK but I think it works fine with my version of events. 
> 
> Warning: given the nature of the show and relationships therein, and the fact that Richard Roper is unequivocally not very nice, this fic has elements of doubtful consent and morally questionable behaviour all round.

He stood in the hall, staring at the tracery on the door of the suite without seeing it. Had there been blood? It would have been hell for housekeeping to get it out of the floor, there’d still be traces there, tiny particles of Sophie; Jed had just walked across them. But maybe there hadn’t been any blood, after all.

The door opened and he looked up, startled, into Roper’s sharp gaze.

“Well?” he said. “Are you going to hover out here all day like a bloody schoolboy at the head’s office, or are you coming in?”

Jonathan swallowed. Andrew Birch let the corner of his mouth arch up, straightened his shoulders, and followed Roper into the bedroom.

**

It was hard to tell when everything had started, Jonathan thought, or rather, when a promising start had lost its way in this morass of fear and guilt and sick, helpless desire. Maybe it had been when he lay in bed in Roper’s mansion, bruised and aching everywhere, and Roper had stood in the doorway and looked him over without saying anything, blue eyes like a laser testing Jonathan’s defences.

Maybe it was earlier, in the time before, a cigarette in the snow. Or a little earlier still, a glass of champagne in his hand, familiar scent of the hotel’s finest bath oil, and that sense, for the first time, of Roper’s presence, irresistible and terrifying. He’d been a soldier, once. He knew that when your heart pounded beneath your uniform, your mouth dry, your muscles seized for action, it could feel like lust. What he hadn’t realized, until he found himself smiling at Angela Burr and signing up, was how much he had missed it.

**

Or in another sense, it had started on the beach, the night he became Andrew Birch. He’d been looking out at the sea, thinking that somewhere over there, someone was supposed to be watching out for him. Except that it didn’t quite seem that he existed, any more.

A crunch of sand behind him, and he turned, on alert, to see Roper wandering towards him, barefoot, trousers rolled up, and a bottle of Moet and two glasses dangling from his hands. Jonathan raised his eyebrows at the champagne, looked up at Roper, with a quick smile. Roper grinned back, all teeth, and sat down beside him. He passed Jonathan a glass. Jonathan turned it in his hands, mentally pricing it and admiring the work that had gone into its shine, while Roper uncorked the bottle, took the glass back, and filled it. His fingers brushed against Jonathan’s. He was sitting very close: Jonathan consciously kept himself relaxed.

“Quite a day,” said Roper. “You’re on the team now, Mr Birch. There’s no getting away.”

Jonathan listened for menace, darkness, but then Roper could make ordering a latte sound faintly menacing, at least if you knew him for what he was.

“I look forward to working with you,” he said, lightly.

“Oh, we’ll work you all right,” said Roper, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his elbows. He tipped his head back to finish his glass. “There’s no fucking wasters in my household.”

Jonathan looked back out to sea, sipping from his glass. He hated champagne, and being even slightly drunk around Roper felt like swimming naked with sharks: an eminently stupid thing to do, if you chose it. He should probably turn the conversation towards what exactly Birch was going to be doing for Roper, in the coming days or weeks. He felt deeply reluctant to try.

“Christ,” said Roper, reflectively. “D’ you know, what I feel like now is a good, hard fuck.”

Jonathan drew in a breath, startled. He hoped Roper hadn’t seen it. He tried to keep his tone casual, just a bit of banter.

“I’m sure Jed would be happy to oblige,” he said.

Roper laughed. “Oh, I don’t think she’d be quite up for what I have in mind, Mr Birch. Doesn’t it make you think of canings, “Birch”? Or I forget, you weren’t a public school boy, were you?”

“I – ” said Jonathan.

Roper dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder and gripped it, hauling himself up. He picked up the bottle, took a draught, and then dropped it casually in the sand.

“Coming?” he said. Jonathan looked up at him, and he jerked his head towards the end of the beach, the fisherman’s cottage.

Jonathan’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand. He looked at Roper’s dark shape, looming above him.

“I didn’t realize this was part of the job description,” he said, easily.

“Call it a perk,” said Roper.

“And if I say no?”

“That,” said Roper, “would only be a relevant question if you were planning to.”

He held Jonathan’s eyes for a moment, then set off towards his cottage.

Jonathan stood up, and followed him. What would Burr say? The ethics of fucking the man you were trying to destroy hadn’t exactly come up in the briefing. Had she _known_? Scratch that, he knew exactly what she’d say, she’d tell him not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to fuck all Roper’s secrets out of him.

Problem was, it seemed more likely it might be the other way round.

Roper was already in the tiny bedroom when Jonathan arrived, a few paces behind him, eyes going first to the loose kitchen floorboard that hid his stolen phone. The cottage was so small that he could see Roper stripping from the door, the muscles of his chest in the fading light. He took a step forward, nerving himself. Lie back and think of England, said Burr, in his head, and he almost laughed. A man like Thomas Quince, murderer, drug dealer, psychopath; like Andrew Birch, wouldn’t do that, though. He would want to be here, eye on the main chance, open to a fair deal. He wanted to be here.

**

It’d been a long time since Jonathan had sex with a man, in his office on a break with the door locked and the sous-chef – Christophe? – biting a mark into his neck. Roper wasn’t gentle, or especially patient, and he’d meant what he said, opening up Jonathan efficiently, covering him, taking. Jonathan bit his lip hard and cursed, wincing, and then pushed back for more; he gripped the bedsheets and let Roper set a ruthless pace, giving in to the pleasure of being helpless to stop it.

“Come _on_ ,” he said, bitten-off, when Roper paused.

“Hmm,” said Roper, only a little breathless. “Demanding. I like it.” He shifted his weight, moved more experimentally, and Jonathan heard himself make a sound. Roper did it again, and again, and Jonathan panted into the pillow, hot all over. He wanted to touch himself, but Roper was pinning him down, weight resting on him.

“Good, good,” said Roper. “OK, then.” He moved again, then fucked Jonathan steadily, without stopping, for what felt like a solid half hour, while Jonathan tried not to beg, tried not to give himself away, tried not to enjoy every moment and couldn’t stop himself.

**

Corky watched him walking, a little stiffly despite his best efforts, beside the pool the next day, his eyes sharp and knowing.

“You want to watch yourself,” he said.

Jonathan ignored him. He slid into the pool, swam a length, and emerged at the other end, shaking the water out of his hair. Corky walked over to crouch beside him.

“He’s not careful with his toys, you know,” he said. “Tends to throw them out of the pram.” His eyes wandered over Jonathan’s arms, his chest.

“Is that what happened to you?” said Jonathan. He stretched his arms above his head, deliberately insolent.

Corky huffed, his smile fixed. “I,” he said, “would never have put myself in that category.” He leaned closer. “I’m watching you,” he said. “Everyone wants you, but I know who you really want.” He nodded towards the upper terrace, where Jed was just visible, reading in her bikini.

“Do you?” said Jonathan. “Feel free to enlighten me. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.” He pulled himself out of the pool smoothly under Corky’s gaze and walked away, toweling himself off.

**

The meeting, of course, was with the tailors. All the time he stood, being dressed and undressed, tucked and buttoned, he was aware of Roper’s gaze, of his body, lounging on the sofa, drinking his eternal champagne and laughing with Sandy. He turned for their approval, trying not to sweat in the ludicrously expensive suit.

After he’d paid, tailors cleared out, Roper set down his glass and smiled at Sandy.

“Piss off, old chap, will you? I want to have a word with our latest acquisition.”

“Absolutely,” said Sandy. “Got to finesse some of the details with you-know-who, and check in with the family, more’s the pity. Tomorrow at 8?”

“Good man,” said Roper. “See you then.” He waited, smiling, until Sandy’s footsteps receded, then went to the door.

“Frisky,” he said. “Private meeting. No-one except Jed to interrupt.”

Jonathan blinked. Roper shut the door firmly.

“And now,” he said, “you can take those clothes off again.”

Jonathan looked at him, his breath already coming faster. He loosened the knot of the tie, pulled it over his head, started on the shirt buttons. Roper went back to the sofa, spreading his arms along the back, watching steadily, and Jonathan turned a little to face him, fingers fumbling. He was uncomfortably aware that he was going to do whatever Roper asked.

His shirt was off, and he was hesitating over his trouser button when Jed walked in. Jonathan froze. He could feel himself blushing: he couldn’t look at her. He tried to compose his face into that of Birch, to whom women like Jed were supremely disposable.

“Jed, darling!” said Roper. “Excellent timing.” Jed walked over to him, bent down for a kiss, and then turned to look at Jonathan, knowing. He felt himself flush more deeply.

“Andrew here was just about to suck my cock,” said Roper, with relish. “Weren’t you?”

Jonathan shuddered, he couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them and looked at the two of them.

“Yes, I was,” he said, admiring how entirely calm his voice sounded. “That is, if Jed doesn’t object.”

“Jed does what she’s told,” said Roper. “As do you, I suspect.” He smiled, not quite pleasantly. “Do a good job, and you can have her afterwards, if you like.”

Andrew cocked his head, smiled properly at Jed. “I’d like that,” he said.

“All settled then,” said Roper. “On your knees, we haven’t got all day.”

Jonathan licked his lips, and went to him.

**

He walked down the aisle of the cargo ship as if he were showing guests to their room, utterly confident of his way, choosing a container with no hesitation. He knew Roper was watching as he handled the gun, and the thought gave it an edge of desire; he ran his hands over it deliberately, professionally, turning to catch Roper’s eye and see, for a moment, a flicker of lust returned, shared.

“I don’t trust a man with no appetite for the finer things in life,” said Roper to him later, after the sale, frowning at Jonathan’s empty glass.

Jonathan turned towards him, lounged a little against the wall, letting himself loosen.

“Perhaps my appetites simply lie elsewhere,” he said.

Roper’s eyes hooded. “Hmm,” he said. “I wonder just how loyal you are, Mr Birch.”

“Try me,” said Jonathan.

Roper looked at him, and there was something baffled in his gaze.

“I don’t trust poofters, you know,” he said. “Corky was always a risk: I overlooked it, for old time’s sake, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again.”

“Look, I’m not – “ said Jonathan.

“Oh, I know you’re not,” said Roper. “And neither am I. That’s what makes the game so much fun, don’t you think?”

Jonathan looked at him and wanted to kiss him, there in public, something Roper would never in a million years allow, and Birch would never in a million years consider; or maybe he wanted to let himself fall at Roper’s feet and….confess, be punished, be taken care of.

“Absolutely,” he said, settling his face back in place. “I wonder if Jed’s getting bored, back at the hotel?”

“I can think of a few ways to celebrate our deal before dinner,” said Roper. “One or two might be particularly up your tree, so to speak.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Andrew Birch, newly successful arms dealer, and followed him to the car.

 


End file.
